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An Ode For Ironing | Poem by Pablo Neruda

Pablo Neruda
translated by Jodey Bateman

Poetry is white 
it comes dripping out of the water 
it gets wrinkled and piles up 
We have to stretch out the skin of this planet 
We have to iron the sea in its whiteness 
The hands go on and on 
and so things are made 
the hands make the world every day 
fire unites with steel 
linen, canvas and calico come back 
from combat in the laundry 
and from the light a dove is born 
purity comes back from the soap suds.

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Other Jodey Bateman translations of Pablo Neruda:
I'll Explain Some Things
What Spain Was Like
An Ode For Ironing
Ode to a Woman Gardening
Ode To Bird Watching
Ode to Broken Things
Ode to Clothing / Oda al Traje
Ode to Olive Oil / Oda al Aceite
Ode to Some Yellow Flowers
Ode to the Artichoke
Ode to the Dictionary
Ode to the Lemon
Ode to the Piano
Ode to the Smell of Wood
Opium In The East (excerpt)
Poem Twenty
For Everybody
From the Heights of Maccho Picchu
Poems by Pablo Neruda, Pulitizer Prize winner
Status Report
The Arrival in Madrid
The Heavenly Poets
The Old Women of the Ocean
The Turtle
To Sit Down
To the Foot From Its Child